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Surely only well-worked clay could be as smooth and supple as the curves into which pale Kaditseth shapes herself, nary a straight line anywhere to be found. Her soft celadon green enhances such composure, further gentling the athletic contours of her body, its fine glaze thinning to an even paler hue only where it's drawn out to wide if proportional wings. But she's porcelain, nothing more pliant, small of size but not of stature: possessed of ink-dark eyes no matter what their shade, of ruddy highlights that further refine her neckridges and deepen within her talons, of a tempering that gives her durability and balance. Not one to easily shatter, even her wings rarely reveal the pattern of their ichored veins, and then resemble less fragmented china and more an obscure inscription that must be held to the light to decipher.